


Shield of God

by a_wake_of_vultures



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Castiel is Not Okay, Castiel is a Winchester, Castiel is a hunter, Castiel is an angel, Dean Winchester is dead, Destiel - Freeform, Heavy Angst, How Do I Tag, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I Made Myself Cry, I'm Sorry Castiel, M/M, Or actually believed to be the patron saint of hunters, Post-Episode: s13e23 Let the Good Times Roll, Protective Dean Winchester, Sad Castiel, how heavy is 'heavy angst' again?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 07:58:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14996354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_wake_of_vultures/pseuds/a_wake_of_vultures
Summary: His job required him to acknowledge the existence of all kind of monsters, creatures lurking in the dark, and he did. Dean believed in countless myths and legends, except for one: The Patron Saint of Hunters.Castiel, they called him. An angel who left Heaven for the sake of Humanity.Dean never believed in Castiel, until the said angel saved his life. And from then on, he did his best to save the angel's grieving soul.





	Shield of God

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NightcoreFan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightcoreFan/gifts).



> Inspired by this prompt: "What if when the Winchester finally get to rest in Heaven, Castiel is left to wander the world forever? Alone without his family. As the years pass, a legend grows within the Hunter community. They pray to this Patron Saint of Hunters, this Angel of solitude and tears."
> 
> My first one-shot, give me feedback? Kudos are so much appreciated.

Stories and legends, they're all real. It's the very first rule Dean had learned when he started his hunting life, and even ten years later, it never disappoints him. Of course, it doesn't mean that he believed every lore he ever heard. Some were misguiding, others were exaggerated, even if there's always a bit of truth in each.

"Are you a hunter?"

Dean sneaked a glance at the bartender; an old man with a jagged scar across his cheek, gesturing at the tattoo on his collarbone. Dean quietly zipped up leather jacket and tapped his fingers on the counter, asking for a refill.

"You were one, too." It wasn't exactly an answer, but the bartender seemed to understand the meaning. "What happened?"

"A werewolf busted my knee two years ago." He let out a low chuckle, "Almost had my guts ripped out, but I guess Castiel still has mercy on me."

There it is, 'Castiel'. The Patron Saint of Hunters, as most of them say. Some call him Humanity's Guardian Angel, which doesn't make sense for him, but it's not like it matters. Most hunters don't have faith in God, even when they know He exists, and Castiel more or less became the replacement.  

"Castiel, huh?" Dean muttered under his breath, "You sure are lucky."

An angel exiled from Heaven, that's what they believe. Castiel chose humanity over God's plan, rebelling against his brothers and sisters for a man whose soul he raised from perdition. They saved the world so many times and along the journey, the angel learned how to be human. His new family grew old and slowly wither but Castiel never left, always watching over them and keeping them safe for decades, until the love of his life finally passed away.

Castiel cared, they said, unlike God. Castiel interfered, fought and suffered for humans, for a family of hunters he grew to care for.

"I met him once, you know?"

_This one's new; might as well hear the whole story._

"What kind of person is he?" Dean asked, careful to keep his tone neutral. He's a non-believer, but that doesn't mean he isn't curious about what hunters know about this 'Castiel'.

The bartender chuckled. "If you didn't know who he is, you would think he's just an ordinary hunter. He rode this sleek, black classic car; it really fits him, I'd say. His eyes are blue, his dark hair's a bit messy, just like his clothes. Plaid and leather, the usual. And he wore a golden ring, a wedding ring. If you see him, kid, I bet you'll know it's him."

"Is he really an angel?"

A shrug was the reply he received. "Who knew. He didn't say. Five years ago I was hunting a Wendigo; I killed it but I was bleeding to death. God knows how much I prayed, at least for someone to find my body. Then I heard the car; he just knelt on my side and healed all my wounds with a single touch. Told me to be more careful and left after he got me back to my truck."

Dean frowned. "That's all? It doesn't sound so great."

The bartender gave him a meaningful look, "How often do hunters get to be saved like that? He came when I needed him the most, it's more than enough for me. What do you expect, kid?"

"Maybe he could've come before you got hurt?"

"Hunters ain't that rare, and I'm not that helpless. He didn't look so good himself; he seemed tired. Even if he didn't heal me, I wouldn't have held it against him. It's already good to know that there's someone out there who cares about us hunters, you know?"

Dean never said another word.

 

* * *

 

It was about half a year later when the name finally crossed Dean's mind again.

Vampire nests were one of the few kinds of hunts he'd rather not do alone. With the number of victims and the locals' slight panic, he had let his guard down by not doing enough preparation, and now he realized how screwed he was. Exhausted and wounded after fighting a dozen vampires on his own, he didn't have time to escape when the rest of the nest returned. They tied him up and now here he is, helplessly waiting for his death as the monsters took turns sucking his blood out.

His eyes were drooping closed when he heard it. A rumble of an engine, someone banging on the door before it fell off its hinges with a loud crash. There wasn't much Dean remembered after that, except for the calloused hands gently untying him. His body fell forward and he whimpered until he heard a deep voice speaking softly.

"It's alright. You're safe now, hunter."

So Dean let his consciousness slip away.

He woke up hours later inside his motel room, feeling more refreshed than he had ever been for the past few weeks. And he wasn't alone; a man was sitting by the window, holding a steaming cup of coffee while humming a soft tune.

"Um..." Dean hesitated, but the stranger seemed friendly enough, so he decided to continue. "Were you the one who..."

The man nodded. "Sorry for my intrusion. I believed it would be best to wait until you woke up, in case if you need further medical attention. You had lost quite a lot of blood, after all."

Dean realized that he didn't feel any kind of pain or discomfort, which was strange already. "Thank you. Is there anything I could do to pay you back? Maybe I can buy you a drink or a meal?"

"There's no need. I'm about to take my leave now." The dark-haired stranger rose from his seat, "Be careful on your way, hunter."

> _"If you see him, kid, I bet you'll know it's him."_

"My name's Dean," he blurted out, "Dean Benjamin Braeden. Are you... Castiel?"

The man froze. His expression turned solemn for a split second, but then he gave Dean a faint smile. "Hello, Dean. To answer your question, yes, I'm Castiel Winchester. It's a pleasure to meet you."

As crazy as it is, Dean felt the need to know Castiel better, despite how much of a non-believer he was. "Likewise. Can I call you Cas?"

Castiel nodded, and Dean swore that for a moment, his blue eyes seemed to glisten with unshed tears. "Of course. And I think I'd like to take your offer; it's almost noon and both of us hasn't eaten anything."

"Yeah, lunch sounds good. Do you like cheeseburgers, Cas?"

"Yes, I do. They make me very happy."

 

* * *

 

The coffee was good, the burger was better, but Castiel's company was the best. Within minutes, Dean found himself mesmerized by Castiel's stories, the way he spoke so fondly of the humans he used to know, especially his family.

"I don't usually share this to anyone, but you just remind me so much of him," Castiel had started, "His name's Dean Winchester." The way he said that name, it was almost heartbreaking. Sorrowful yet so loving, his smile only grew wider the more he talked about this 'Dean'. "He was my responsibility; Heaven ordered me to rescue him from Hell, and I swore I've never seen any soul as bright as his. He was broken after sacrificing himself for his brother and he never regretted his decision; that kind of love was rare, especially for hunters, don't you think?"

Dean nodded. Hunters always have a rough life; when the worst came, it's usually an 'every man for themselves' situation. But going to Hell for a brother? That's a new level of crazy.

Castiel talked about the brothers, the many 'end-of-the-world' they started and stopped. Hours passed and Dean allowed himself to drown in the story of Leviathans, the cruelty of Purgatory, the chaos brought by the angels' fall, the Mark of Cain, the Darkness and even the Empty, all kind of insane creatures he couldn't even imagine before. Dean wouldn't have believed him, if not for the sincere look on his face and the way he mindlessly fiddled with a golden ring on the leather strap around his neck, a ring matching the one around his finger.

"I never thought we would call it love. We just shared a more profound bond, since I've touched his soul and even left my mark on him. But it somehow happened; my vessel's body simply became my own as I left my obligation towards Heaven, towards God; I forgot all my duty to find my purpose on Earth, and I fell for him in every possible way. I've lost my grace and he has lost his humanity, but somehow we learned to heal ourselves. We found more and more reasons to live; people to save, family to take care of, all kinds of good deeds to do and bad things to stop. We learned how to forgive, how to let go. And somehow, somehow we got through all of it."

Dean gave him a small smile. "He seemed like a good person."

"As you are." Castiel commented, "Do you believe in happy endings, Dean?"

He wanted to shake his head, to say _No, it doesn't exist_ , but he couldn't bring himself to. Instead, he tore his gaze away from those blue eyes, hoping that Castiel wouldn't see his inner thoughts. But angels can read minds, can't they?

"I don't, either." It was surprising, even more when Castiel let out a faint sniffle. "Us hunters don't get to keep that. You either die as a nameless hero or live long enough to become the monsters you hunt. Ah, I'm sorry," using the end of his sleeves, he hastily wiped the tears from his eyes, "I just-... You looked just like him, and I know I've said too much, but I suppose I couldn't bring myself to stop."

Dean frowned. Clearly, it was hard for the angel to stay. But maybe that's what he needed, a good listener, and Dean wouldn't mind being his friend. Not because how handy it would be to have an angel by his side, but simply because Castiel had sounded so lonely. "I don't mind, really. You seemed like you need someone and I'm willing to be that person."

Castiel turned away, quietly placing a fifty-dollar bill on the table as if preparing himself to leave. But he seemed so exhausted, Dean couldn't bring himself to just keep quiet and allow the angel to destroy himself.

"You can't keep saving people without taking care of yourself, Cas," he said, "How long have you been doing this? Months, years? Even angels can grieve, you don't have to keep going like a soldier. Your Dean taught you how to be human, and humans are allowed to be weak sometimes, right?" Castiel stayed silent, so Dean kept going, "I'm not him, but if my presence brings you at least a little bit of comfort, then stay. Leave me anytime you feel like you're ready to face the world again. Just... You deserve salvation just as much as everybody else does."

The next second, Dean found the two of them back inside his motel room. Castiel was sitting on the bed; he had his hands covering his face, lightly shaking his head as his shoulders began to shake. Dean hesitated but decided not to leave and instead took his seat beside him, holding a can of beer.

"You're a good person, Cas. Whatever happened to him, it wasn't your fault. You deserve to be happy, too."

"... Thank you."

 

* * *

 

The next time they met, almost a year had passed.

It was a quarter past midnight; Castiel sat at the corner of a crowded bar with a glass full of whiskey in front of him, along with two more bottles of it. There were some hunters inside the building, he could tell from their scars and the silver knives they brought, their heavy drinks and dirty plaids. Of course, the most obvious was the way they constantly sneaked a glance at him, whispering under their breaths and shaking their head in disbelief. None of them seemed to be willing to talk to him, even if they looked like they knew who he is. Castiel could make out some of the words, 'angel' being the most common after 'Winchester'.

The thought warmed his heart. Knowing that despite everything, the Winchesters are still remembered, it was reassuring. The Winchester Gospel, as what Zachariah once said. Hailed as heroes who saved the world multiple times, no one cared about their codependency, the alcoholism or the way they started a few apocalypses in their journey. And Castiel was so lucky to be allowed to bear that name, to fight alongside the brothers, to stay with them.

_Then they left him._

The angel emptied his glass and closed his eyes, unconsciously tugging at the leather strap around his neck until he found the golden ring. Clutching it tight, he bowed his head as he tried to drown out the noises. The familiar cacophony from the counter, glass clinking against beer bottles and people cheering at the pool table, it was all too much. Too nostalgic.

_"You should try this one, Cas!" Dean chuckled, raising his glass, filled with something that smells like red wine and some other alcohol, "They call it Vampire's Blood, but it tastes much better than the real thing!"_

_"Dean, I thought we were here to hustle pool, not getting drunk? We're running low on cash, man."_

_"Have a little fun, Sammy! It's not the end of the world, not anymore. Right, Cas?"_

Castiel found himself unable to breathe, his chest growing tight and it burned, so hot that he forced his eyes to open but hey, when did everything became so blurry? What's happening? Where was he? Why does it smell like blood? Why is it so cold out here? Is it angel grace? Archangel?

> _"I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from Perdition."_

No, he just needed a drink.

His hands trembled as he poured himself more alcohol. He rested his elbows on the table, slowly taking sips of the whiskey. It also burned, in a good way. It almost grounded him, almost. His fingers ached from clutching the ring too tight, but the pain kept him awake. It kept him alert, because it's real, unlike the noises. Unlike _his_ voice. What time is it again? 00:41, September 18th.

September 18th? Ah, that explains everything.

> _"Cas, I need you. I love you, angel."_

The date was somehow hard-wired into his brain. Every year, without fail, the flashbacks would return, the noises got louder, a whole day of torturous hallucinations. As if he needed more reminder. He's the one who picked the date in the first place, of course he would never forget it.

> _"You don't think you deserve to be saved."_

The glass slipped out of his hand. It shattered, snapping him back to reality, and he realized that the other hunters had been staring at him. Some with surprise, others with pity. Castiel looked down, quietly picking up each piece and mending the broken glass in his palm. He set it back on the table and pushed it aside, letting out a heavy sigh.

> _"You deserve salvation just as much as everybody else does."_

_That's... not his Dean. Not himself, either. Who-_

Right. It's Braeden.

"Castiel?"

He raised his head and there stood Braeden, Dean Benjamin Braeden. The hunter who looked so much like _him_ , the one who was kind enough to treat him like a human and not some kind of holy entity.

"Hello, Dean. It's been a while."

"Yeah," the brunet quietly said, "May I sit here?"

Castiel gave him a nod. As Dean settled himself, the angel noticed more scars along his skin, the colors fading from his leather jacket, the bags under his eyes, everything that screamed 'rough hunt' and 'nasty monsters'. Still, he looked like he's enjoying himself, so Castiel pushed the whiskey bottles towards him.

"Thanks," Dean said, taking a big gulp of the drink, "How are you, Castiel? You seemed troubled."

"It will pass. How have you been?"

Dean shook his head, "Eh, the usual. I mean, working solo means more job to be done, but I can handle it. My dad used to say that hunting alone is dangerous, but I think it's not that bad. It's harder, but there's more money to spare, easier undercover and less drama, so that's a plus." He smiled, almost bitterly, "It gets lonely sometimes, but I don't think I can handle losing a friend on the job. I'd rather die alone than having to see that."

"No one deserves to die alone," Castiel interjected, "hunters shouldn't have to go through that." He turned away, "Doing that to yourself because it's exactly what happened to your father, that's not fair. His death was never your fault."

"How did you ..."

"Your last name sounded familiar, so I did a bit of research on my own. I apologize," he said, "Benjamin Isaac Braeden, am I correct? He knew Dean Winchester, even if he didn't remember so." Castiel found Dean clenching his fists but didn't mention it, "They were... close, until Lisa was possessed by a demon. Dean asked me to erase their memories to keep them away from the supernatural, but I guess it never worked, then?"

"Honestly, Cas, I want to punch you in the face right now." Dean huffed, especially after seeing the faint smile on Castiel's face. The angel would probably let himself got beaten to death. He even seemed like he wouldn't mind dying, and somehow, it worried him, much more than it should have. "But I guess it was bound to happen. Can't keep a secret forever, especially not from angels."

"But yeah, shit happened. Dad got married but Mom was turned into a werewolf when I was seven. He had to kill her and we both lied to the cops, we told them it was burglary and Mom died trying to protect me. In a way, she did. She never fought back," Dean explained, "Dad wanted to find the werewolf who turned her, but he didn't have the heart to drag me with him, knowing the risks. I started living with Grandma Liz after that. Dad told her he got promoted and had to work in another state, but he knew how hard it would be for me to adapt if we had to move."

Castiel frowned.

"I don't hold it against him, I understand his reasoning. I consider myself lucky, he still came to visit me on holidays, we always spend Christmas together, and every year we still came to Mom's grave to give her flowers. Dad often came home bloody and sweaty, but Grandma Liz never asked questions. I got a feeling that she knew the truth, but chose not to talk about it." He let out a small chuckle, "Did she know your Dean, too?"

"They were lovers, until his brother returned from the Cage."

"He always chose Sam over anyone else, huh? Maybe except you."

"He would always choose his family," Castiel confirmed, "That's why he started hunting, why he never left the life, no matter how much he hated all the bloodshed. He died as a hunter, too, all because he always wanted to help people, always willing to sacrifice himself for everyone else." As he spoke, his voice slowly became hoarse, as if he was about to cry. Dean sneaked a glance at the remaining hunters around the bar, glaring a warning at them until they all turned away. He then placed his hand on Castiel's trembling ones, trying his best to calm him down and distracting him from his thoughts.

"I started hunting when I was nineteen," he said, "Grandma Liz had passed away almost a year before I finished high school. Dad came for the funeral; he told me it was time for me to know what he had been doing. It turned out that he found the werewolf just months after he left, but after killing it, he decided to stick with the job, 'cause someone gotta do it."

"I guess he wanted to play hero, to save other people, because he failed to save Mom. Not that I blame him."

"Anyways, he showed me the ropes. Salt is handy, just like silver. Never drink any monsters' blood, not even a drop, it turns you. You behead vampires, stab pagan gods. Angel blades kill almost everything, the theories are easy. The training he gave me was harder, but at least I never had to face the real deal."

"He stayed for about a month. Before he left, he gave me a choice, that I can choose whatever I want. To get into the business or live a normal life, even if he'd rather have me choose the latter. Of course I followed his wishes; he had been doing the job alone for a long while by then, I figured he'd rather have a place to go home to than someone holding him back in the field." Dean shrugged, taking another gulp of the whiskey, "I lived alone for a while before I sold the house and moved to the university dorm. Dad came on my first day before he left again, leaving his gun for me to keep. The same one Grandma Liz had given to him, the one he used to kill his very first monster long ago. I still carry it around, you know?"

Castiel nodded. "I understand. It's always the little things that mean the most to us."

Dean poured a shot and slid the glass over to Castiel, who took it gratefully. "Feeling better, I hope?"

"I am, thank you."

The Braeden almost grinned. "Well, setting that aside, the bar's closing soon. Any good motels around here?"

"Actually... I'm not staying here, I'm going home."

"... Angel mojo. Right." Castiel gave him a questioning look, which earned him another smile, "Everyone knows you're from Kansas, Cas. They know more than you think. Stories have been going around, and they've always been curious."

The angel frowned. "I know they are. But still... I'm not as great as they thought I am."

"Doesn't mean you don't deserve your titles." Dean rose from his seat, "I think I'll be going now, I need to find somewhere to sleep tonight."

"Wait," Castiel stopped him, pulling out something from his pocket and setting in on the table. It was a mixtape, Dean realized, and the hand-written label reads 'Deans top 13 Zepp TRAXX'. It looked old, the ink starting to fade away, but it was still in a good condition. "You didn't get to know what really happened, you told me your story instead. I want you to keep this."

Dean took the mixtape and gave him a smile. "You don't owe me anything, Cas. I'm your friend, I'm not here to dig out all your secrets whenever you feel like spilling it." He sighed, "How about we trade? I'll be holding on to this, as long as you take care of my gun." He placed his own gun on the table, the one from his father, "Just until we meet again. Then we can share more, you in?"

"Alright. Be careful on your way, Dean."

"I will. See you later, Cas!"

Castiel stayed in his seat, inspecting the gun in his hands. The pistol grip's outer side was made of wood, where a small devil's trap was carved. Under the circle, he could see tiny initials, which he only noticed after seeing the same carvings on the Impala for years. That same 2 letters which also marked the Bunker's table, the inside of his ring and near the trigger of his own colt.

_D.W._

 

* * *

 

Two years. They both spent two years without ever seeing each other.

Which was quite an incredible feat, considering how badly Dean had been injured. It took almost all of his willpower not to instinctively pray for someone, especially Castiel, to save his ass. During the period, he had finally gotten himself an angel blade, a handful of sigil tattoos, a whole lot of scars, stitches and broken bones. Dean had also heard more stories; the latest one saying that Castiel had saved a young witch from her enemy, and now she also became a hunter, using her magic only for good. The Braeden shared a few of his own, too; tales about the Winchesters including Castiel himself. Some hunters had assumed that he somehow has a connection with the angel, but he never confirmed that.

It wasn't a warehouse or a bar. This time, it was much more... _peaceful_. Dean found Castiel in a cemetery in Lawrence, sitting in front of a gravestone with a can of beer in his hand. A similar can was placed on the grave, while Castiel talked to whoever was buried there, his voice calm as always.

"It's hard, Dean. It's harder than anything I've ever gone through. I want to leave, I don't want to bear these wings anymore, but I have to stay. It would be disrespectful of me to do otherwise."

There was a shadow rising from the said grave; years of experience told him what it was almost immediately: a spirit. A ghost. But Castiel's a hunter, so why isn't he doing anything?

The ghost sat in front of Castiel and reached for the beer, opening the can as he turned to look at the angel.

"I know you would say that I can do whatever the hell I want 'cause it's my life," Castiel continued, "But you told me to live. You want me to stay here, right?"

The ghost smiled sadly.

"I'm tired, Dean. I'm so tired."

Pale, translucent hand reached out and gently caressed Castiel's cheek. The air grew colder, but Castiel leaned to the touch, closing his eyes.

Dean knew he should leave; their interaction seemed so private, so intimate, so close and yet so far. Like two star-crossed lovers, one an immortal and another a lifeless soul.

And then it hit him. That spirit, he must be _Dean Winchester_. After all, he wore that same ring, carrying the same gun, just like Castiel. The way they looked at each other, too...

"Dean?"

But if that was the Winchester, then shouldn't they gave him a hunter's funeral?

"Dean Benjamin Braeden!"

He looked up, to see Castiel's glare and the ghost's amused smile.

"... Hey, Cas..."

"How long have you been here?"

 _Dean_ let out a quiet chuckle and placed his hand on Castiel's as if saying _Calm down, he did nothing wrong_ , and Castiel's anger seemed to dissipate almost instantly. The angel motioned for him to come closer, allowing Dean to notice more details on the spirit's figure. He was definitely a good looking guy, tall and muscular. His gaze was soft, and though he looked a bit pained, he seemed content. He wore a red plaid shirt, jeans and boots, everything that screamed 'hunter'. There wasn't a single wound on his body, so his death most probably wasn't anything brutal.

Dean pulled out Castiel's mixtape from his jacket, earning him a curious look from the ghost. He didn't falter. "I still owe you, Cas. I'll be leaving now, I just wanted to return this." The ghost, the original owner of the mixtape, laughed. His voice could barely be heard, but the way he threw his head back as he shut his eyes was enough to show how sincere his feeling was.

"It's a gift; you keep those," Castiel replied, "If you aren't in a hurry, give me a minute. Just wait in my car, I'll be there soon."

The Braeden glanced at _Dean_ , who now wore a wide grin on his face.

"Alright then."

 _Dean_ sent him a small wave. He waved back with a greeting nod and turned away, leaving. As he walked away, a deep voice whispered in his ear.

_"Take care of my angel, will you?"_

 

* * *

 

The Bunker was way larger than the rumors. But it was empty, terribly so, and to think that someone has been living there on their own for years... Dean couldn't imagine how lonely it must have felt.

"I told him a bit about you," Castiel started, "He said that you sounded just like how he expected your father to be."

Dean chuckled. "Thanks, that's a first. If I may ask... what's tying him here?"

Castiel, surprisingly, shrugged. "Nothing, he told me himself. He's here by choice; he wanted to stay. Still too damn worried about me."

"... What happened?"

The angel turned away and popped open a new bottle of whiskey, gulping a quarter of it down in one go, "Archangel. Dean allowed Michael to possess him in order to kill Lucifer, to save Sam and Jack. They did it, but Michael took full control." He shook his head, his hands shaking as he placed the bottle on the table, "He proposed just a month before, and I lost him. Again. He was trapped there, inside his own mind, unable to do a thing while Michael used his body to wreck all kinds of havoc... He never truly forgive himself."

"But angels need permissions, right?"

"Archangels are way more powerful," Castiel explained, "They could create a whole different reality inside our mind. To make us forget, or so we would give up, anything that it takes so we would be unable to fight back."

"Sam and I have been possessed by Lucifer, but this Michael was different. He came from a different world, an apocalyptic one, so he never let his guard down. Eventually we ran out of choices; instead of answers, we looked for an archangel blade and resorted to killing him. We had no choice, I swear, I swear I never wanted to hurt him."

Castiel took a deep breath and forced a smile, "But Dean made it. Barely, but he made it. I remember him clutching my hand, pulling the sword out of his chest as he cried. We healed his injuries, but they already left a permanent damage to his body."

"He still wanted to marry me, even if he was reluctant. He said that I'm gonna lose him soon, so why bother with that kind of commitment? We had a big argument, even Sam had to interfere and knock some sense into his head." Castiel let out a quiet chuckle, "We went to a small chapel and signed the papers there. Our documents were all fake, except for that marriage license. Castiel Novak and Dean Winchester; I took his last name despite his protests. Even Claire gave us her blessing." The angel rose from his seat and went to the bookcase behind him, where he pulled out a journal and placed it on the table. He opened the last page and slid the book to Dean, showing him the picture.

It was _Dean_ with one arm around Castiel, both wearing tuxes and showing off their rings. They looked so happy, but it was obvious that 'Dean' was sick. He was thin, holding his husband tight as if he was afraid of falling if he let go. He was a bit pale, and there were bags under his eyes, barely visible but they were there.

"After our short honeymoon, his health deteriorated. That didn't stop him from hunting; we stopped going after pagan gods and took care of restless spirits instead. He never wanted to retire, but the moment his body couldn't handle the recoil of his own gun, he gave up. He stayed in the Bunker, doing research and answering phone calls, guiding younger hunters and saving their lives. This place used to be full of people, believe it or not. Our family used this place as our base of operation, at least until he passed away. Then they left, one by one, 'cause the memories hurt too much for them."

Dean frowned. "How long?"

"Five years. Dean survived for another five years. He went through all of it without complaining: the constant coughing fit, the seizures, the headaches, everything. On his last days, I never left his side. He kept pushing me away, he never wanted me to see him on his last breath, but I know he needed me as much as I need him."

"What do you think would happen to someone who's about to die?" he asked. Dean raised his eyebrow in confusion, but Castiel only took a sip of his beer, clearly waiting for a reply.

"... They replayed... memories... of their whole life...?"

Castiel nodded. "And their souls go closer to Heaven or Hell, wherever they deserve to be in. It affects their senses; they feel, they hear, they see things they've never imagined before. Everything they never thought would exist. For Sam, he heard his mother singing him 'Hey Jude', something that never happened after the fire."

"But my husband? He saw my wings. My real form, everything, all that was supposed to scare him. And instead, he cried for me. He was still saying sorry even on his last breath!" Castiel started shaking, burying his eyes under the heels of his hands. Dean leaned back in his chair, giving the angel some time to calm himself down before he spoke up.

"... If it hurts you so much, then why are you telling me all of this, Cas?"

Castiel didn't reply. He hadn't raised his head, but now tears were streaming down his cheek, on his arm and to the table. He stayed frozen.

"Until death do us part, we said. And yet he never leaves me."

Dean wanted to stop him, but he felt like it wasn't his right to do so.

"He could've gone to Heaven, to his brother and his parents, to all of his family, but he stayed here. Worrying about me. Waiting in that grave, while I could barely spare any time to visit him. And every time, every single time, he was the one who comforted me. The one who did all the hard work, making sure I'm not losing my mind."

"After he did all of that for me, how can I stop? How can I ever quit? There may be a way to leave this life, but I can't do it. I'm tired of living here, but who's going to kill me? Monsters, they all tried. I can't do it, either. So here I am, stuck in this goddamn world, while all the hunters out there thinks that I am some kind of holy entity watching over them, but I'M NOT!"

The air grew a little colder, and from the corner of his eye, Dean spotted the ghost standing at the end of the table, a worried look on his face.

"I hear their prayers, all the time. Asking me to watch over their fallen comrades, to keep them safe in their hunts, but I can't. I never wanted to save anyone, all I ever wanted was to save the love of my life. And I failed him! Just one man, my everything. So why do they expect so much of me when I already screwed up my life by letting him die?"

 _Dean_ slowly shook his head, almost reaching out to touch Castiel, but he stepped away and took his seat on the stairs behind them. He covered the lower half of his face with his hand, seemingly holding back his sob, as he stared at his husband in sorrow.

"... I'm not an angel, not anymore. Angels are soldiers of Heaven, they were powerful and absolute. I'm just a man, cursed to live to the end of time."

The Braeden stayed silent. What's there left to say? No one knows for sure how long Castiel had gone through this. Alone in this bunker, with the constant reminder of what he once had, of his family and his lover. _Dean Winchester_ was the same, watching his husband slowly falls apart after his death, unable to help, only adding more to the heartache. Yet not leaving, because who else was supposed to keep an eye on his angel?

They were heroes. They saved lives, they saved the world, they sacrificed everything for the sake of those who don't even know their names.

They don't deserve this. Not at all.

"Cas..."

Both the Winchesters raised their heads.

"You may have heard this a thousand times before, but I feel like it wouldn't be right for me not to say it," Dean said, taking a deep breath, "... I'm sorry about your loss. You don't deserve that, neither does your husband. But everything that happened to you and your family, none of it was your fault. No one blames you for it, especially your husband."

 _Dean_ nodded, giving the mortal hunter a grateful smile.

"There's nothing I can do to fix any of this. There's not much I can do to help you," he admitted, "But you're a good person, Cas. That's the first thing I realized about you, and it matters more than you being a hunter or an angel or whatever else they call you."

Castiel wiped away his tears. _Dean_ 's image began to flicker.

"So who cares about those hunters? You can't save everyone, Cas, you know that. Hell, that's like, the third rule of Hunters 101! I mean, you can always help them, heal them or anything, but it's not an obligation. Don't feel like you have to do it. I know you're capable of that, but you're allowed to be selfish, Cas."

The dead Winchester grinned, nodding in approval at Dean before he disappeared.

After another moment of silence, Castiel finally spoke up. "... You asked me for the reason." His voice was a bit hoarse, but now he looked calm. Dean waited, and it took another empty bottle of whiskey before Castiel gave his answer.

"I couldn't help myself. Your soul looked just like his; pained, lonely, yet still so bright, so kind. A righteous man."

Dean looked down, hiding his surprise. Castiel pulled out a small wooden box and tossed it to him. The key of the bunker. Dean gave him a curious look, but the angel merely smiled. "He deserves to be remembered just as much as I do. I may not be able to talk about him without breaking, but perhaps you can do it for me."

"Perhaps you can help us. Tell them how imperfect we are, that we suffer just as much as they do. That we're no more than ordinary hunters, as they are. The world doesn't need saving anymore, but perhaps you can make it a better place."

 

* * *

 

The last time Dean saw Castiel, he could barely move.

It wasn't exactly a monster that killed him. The witch was already dead, but when her body turned into ashes, her house also fell apart, eaten by the fire from the last bit of her magic. And he was trapped, smokes filling up his lungs while he bled out, unable to do a thing to try to save his life.

But somehow, he didn't mind it. He was content. He had done as much good as he could, saved as many people as possible and spared all the monsters who deserved his mercy. He was satisfied with many things in his life, and for all his regrets, he had learned to forgive himself.

He didn't have much, either, so there's almost nothing to leave behind. Just an old truck, a small collection of arsenal in a duffle bag, a few sets of clothes in another, several phones and books, nothing else. Money? He didn't even have a hundred dollar on him right now. His whole family is dead, and he could count the number of friends he has with one hand. Really, there's barely anything for him to miss, to mourn for.

Dean had seen his fair share of magic, of monsters and miracles, yet there was still a lot of things he didn't believe in. Like fate, or happy endings. A lot of young hunters had asked him why, but all he did was telling them a story of an angel, Castiel. One who fell from heaven, who fell in love, one who deserves so much happiness but received only sufferings instead. Only heartbreak and loneliness. There was no such thing as fate or happy endings, but at least true love exists, like one between Castiel and Dean Winchester.

Funny how life works. Once upon a time, he was a non-believer, yet for the past few years, he had been sharing tales of the Winchesters' glory, of Dean's pain, Sam's sacrifices, Castiel's rebellion, of the battles they fought with everybody else. Jack, Claire, Jody, Bobby and dozens more names.

Dean didn't understand why, but he wanted to make sure that they will never be forgotten.

As he lay on the floor with the red flames around him, his mind wandered around. Hopefully, those retired hunters (the new Men of Letters, Dean corrected himself) will take a good care of the Bunker. Hunters shouldn't work on their own, they need a headquarters of some sort. Hopefully, someone will take care of his car and everything in it. Hopefully, someone will find his remains and give him a proper hunter's funeral. Hopefully, his fellow hunters will learn from his own mistakes.

Hopefully, somewhere out there, Castiel wouldn't blame himself, like he usually did.

Castiel Winchester: an angel, a hunter, a widower. A mysterious warrior in the eye of every hunter in the world except for Dean alone. Which brought him another question; how will Cas react upon hearing his death? Dean never wanted to hurt him, but hey, death is inevitable.

> _"No one deserves to die alone, hunters shouldn't have to go through that. Doing that to yourself because it's exactly what happened to your father, that's not fair. His death was never your fault."_

Dean almost scoffed. It was never about blame. His father chose the hunting life, and he followed his footsteps because there's nothing else to live for.

The flames disappeared.

"It's always a damn fire," a deep voice said, amused and annoyed. Dean recognized it almost immediately.

"Cas?" How typical of him, to show up even at the latest minute.

"Hello, Dean." Castiel had knelt beside him, a deep frown on his face. Dean raised his hand, stopping the angel from healing his wounds as he shook his head slightly.

"Hey, leave it," he stated, "Don't use your grace on me." The angel seemed like he was about to complain, but Dean cut him off, "Just get me out of here. The smoke's hurting my eyes."

He felt Castiel's hands on his shoulders, his grip tight but gentle, and the next moment he found himself outside the house. The cold air made him want to shiver, and yet he found himself too tired to care, instead focusing on the stars above him.

"Why won't you let me heal you, Dean?"

Dean exhaled slowly, ignoring the pain in his ribs. "Am I dying, Cas?" he asked back, a small smile on his face, "I spy with my little eye... a man standing behind my truck. Is he a reaper?"

Castiel nodded solemnly.

"Eh, he's pretty hot."

"I can't let you die, Dean. Please, allow me."

"Just sit with me here, Cas. You told me no one should die alone. Stay here, a little longer?"

"I don't want you to die."

"But I'm done here." Dean gritted his teeth as he felt the pain reaching his stomach, "I'm done, with all of this. I'm gonna have to retire soon, anyways. Can't even kill a single witch without burning down the damn house," he almost laughed, but he couldn't find the strength to do so. "Don't waste your angel mojo for me." He gulped, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them again, this time looking at Castiel's bright, sky blue eyes. "Just keep me company."

Castiel moved to sit beside Dean's head, running his fingers through his damp hair. "Can I at least ease your pain?"

"... Sure."

He could feel Castiel's hands on both sides of his head, and then he found himself floating. He couldn't move his limbs anymore, yet it no longer hurts. It all turned into a numbing cold sensation, which wasn't particularly uncomfortable, just... foreign. But it's much, much better than what he's feeling before, so Dean took his time to relax as he waited for the reaper to finally take him away.

The stars looked so bright tonight.

The cold, as much as he disliked it, helped to keep him awake.

Castiel didn't cry. But he was singing, and his voice was shaking. It was an old song; he couldn't remember the lyrics, but the tune was familiar. Comforting. Just like the giant shadow over Cas's back, spreading wide with midnight black feathers and-

_Oh. Are those..._

"Wings?"

The angel turned to him, a look of surprise on his face.

It was incredible. A pair of long, broad wings with thick feathers. They shone blue and purple under the moonlight; the beauty was more than enough to have Dean gaping in awe at the sight, rendering him speechless. They didn't reflect anything holy or pure like the usual belief about angels, instead they symbolized strength, resilience, perseverance, and most of all, freedom.

"... Dean?"

Dean could barely speak. "Your wings... they're beautiful, Cas..."

 

_Sam stood beside the bed, eyes red after hours of crying. On the other hand, Dean almost looked happy, a grin plastered on his pale face despite how he could barely lift his head._

_"No chick-flick moment, Sammy," he reminded. With those words, Castiel knew that his husband was still trying to hide his own fear. How very 'Winchester' of him, doing so even on his deathbed._

_His brother turned away, scoffing. "It's Sam, stop calling me that."_

_"Sure, Samantha," Dean grinned, "You sure you're gonna be fine without me?"_

_Sam sent him a half-hearted glare. "Come on, Dean, don't do this to me." He shook his head, sitting on the cold floor as he clutched his big brother's hand. For a moment, Dean became that teen who convinced his snotty little brother that everything will be alright. Only this time, Sam couldn't find it in him to believe Dean, "Why can't you worry about yourself for once?"_

_"Because I don't matter anymore." Sam was about to speak up, but Dean continued, "I'm a dying man, Sam. Why would you worry about me? I can see Billie here, she's already waiting to take my soul. Just an hour, maybe even less, and then I'm leaving."_

_The younger brother leaned his back on the wall and closed his eyes, biting his lip to try to hold back his sobs._

_"Sammy, listen to me."_

_He nodded, almost numbly, and Dean gripped Sam's hand a little tighter. He could barely feel the pressure, but it was enough to gain his focus._

_"When I'm gone, you're gonna be the big brother here. You know what that means?" Sam opened his eyes, to see Dean silently struggling to breathe, again, but he regained his composure almost immediately. "That means, it's your turn to watch over our family. Protect them, that's your job."_

_Sam gave him another quiet nod. Dean took a deep breath, coughing to his pillow, while Castiel kept one hand on his shoulder, trying his best to ease the pain._

_"Cas and Jack, Claire, Charlie, all of them. And I mean everyone else, too, Sam, 'cause family don't end with blood, remember?" Dean gave him a meaningful look, "I really don't care if you don't save the world or hunt the big bad monsters. Just keep them safe, alright?"_

_His little brother raised his head, wiping the tears from his eyes, again, and let out a huff. "Yeah, I get it, jerk."_

_"...Bitch."_

_Even Castiel couldn't hold back his smile._

 

"... I'm glad you got to see them."

The Braeden smiled, letting out another heavy breath. "Take care of yourself, 'kay?"

Castiel nodded. It was peaceful silence, where none of them felt the need to speak and simply enjoying each other's presence. Dean could feel his consciousness slowly slipping away, but instead of fighting it, this time he embraced the darkness.

"... I think I'll be leaving now..." he muttered, "Sorry."

He could feel the angel's hand holding his own, rubbing his knuckles. "I understand. Goodbye, Dean."

Dean gave him one last grin before he finally closed his eyes.

"See you later, Cas."

 

_The moment Sam left the room, tears pooled in those beautiful green eyes, making Castiel's heart ached with sorrow._

_"... I don't want to die, Cas."_

_Castiel pulled his husband into his arms. Dean's body went slack, leaning almost all of his weight on the angel, but he didn't seem to be affected by it. Instead, he showered the dying man with soft kisses, from his forehead to the crook of his neck, before resting his chin on his head._

_"I know, honey, I know. I'm here with you," the angel whispered. Dean's body trembled with his sobs, his hands clutching Castiel's shirt in fear of letting go, "I'm not going anywhere, Dean."_

_Dean weakly shook his head. "I can't leave you, Cas. I can't do that to you. I don't want to hurt you."_

_"Don't- It's not about me, sweetheart, you don't have to worry about me," Castiel tried to convince him, holding back his own tears. With how scared he's feeling, he was a bit surprised when his voice still sounded as it normally does._

_"...Take care of Sam. And Baby."_

_"I will."_

_"Take care of yourself," Dean muttered, "Or I swear, I'll haunt this place just to keep an eye on you."_

_Castiel chuckled, while Dean let out a soft growl._

_"I'm not joking, Cas."_

_"I know. I believe you."_

_They stayed in silence for a while, Castiel's heartbeat thumping into Dean's eardrums, drowning out any other sounds. He closed his eyes and somehow, somehow everything felt right again. Like the first kiss they shared, like the first night they spent together. Like that evening in the chapel. Like every other memory they shared together._

_"Cas... 'M tired," he mumbled, "So sorry. Sorry I can't stay. Sorry I'm leaving you. Sorry I'm hurting you."_

_Castiel pulled him closer. "It's nothing to be sorry for." He paused for a moment before saying, "You can let go, Dean. It's alright, I got you."_

_"I don't wanna go..."_

_The angel nodded weakly, still stroking his lover's hair in affection._

_"Cas...?" Castiel hummed in response, realizing that Dean had raised his head. His eyes were now glazed over, but he was still staring at, or through him, in awe. "Is this your real form...?"_

_Castiel did his best to hide his surprise. As a celestial being, he had to walk on earth inside a vessel, so how can his husband see it?_

_"... You never showed me your wings before..." The angel felt like crying, especially when his husband reached out his hands. Instinctively, Castiel wrapped his wings around the two of them, allowing Dean to touch them with the tip of his fingers. He lightly stroked the feathers as he leaned his head back on Castiel's chest._

_"They're beautiful, Cas. Soft. Big and strong. And warm." Dean closed his eyes, letting out a small, content sigh, "Like you. My angel."_

_Castiel let out a shaky breath, knowing full well what was about to happen._

_"I love your wings." His lips curled up into a small smile, "I love you, Cas."_

_Dean never opened his eyes again._

 

* * *

 

** THE END. **

 

 

  

**Author's Note:**

> What's there left to explain?  
> 1\. The title, Shield of God, is the literal meaning of 'Castiel' in Theophory in the Bible.  
> 2\. In this story, Castiel couldn't return to Heaven.  
> 3\. September 18th, that's the date when Dean first got rescued from Hell. In this fic, it's also the date Castiel picked for their wedding.  
> 4\. They traded a gun and a mixtape. You all obviously remembered the mixtape, but for the gun... I believed Dean left Lisa in a hurry, and he must have felt obliged to protect her. He must have left a weapon with her, somewhere inside the house, which explains how the gun could kill a werewolf (it had silver bullets). Lisa passed the gun to Ben, who gave it to his son.  
> 5\. Dean Braeden's backstory is so similar to Dean Winchester's, but the difference is what I preferred over what really happened. I think John shouldn't have dragged Sam and Dean around, I really wished they had a choice. Well, there goes my heart.
> 
> I'm starting to doubt the point of writing this damn story so I'll stop here.
> 
> Kudos? Comments? 
> 
> Thanks for reading, anyways.


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